


Firsts

by SnarkyBreeze



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Plant Wrote This, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Depression, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Established Relationship, Fluff, Long-Haired Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Marriage, Nonbinary Character, POV Multiple, Romance, Weddings, depersonification, nonbinary Yuuri, sex mentioned/implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyBreeze/pseuds/SnarkyBreeze
Summary: Yuuri and Viktor can't stop falling in love.  From their first day living together, their endless numbered days are spent in awe of one another's beauty, complexity, sincerity, and all the little details in between that make their lives full and happy.  Along the way, they navigate life's little milestones, and each delights in learning the other and watching them grow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuuri?” He called, peering around the corner into the bedroom. “Where’d you… go?”
> 
> Of all the things he expected to see, Yuuri sitting on his bed, glasses perched low on their nose, tears spilling down their cheeks was not one of them. When they knew they’d been caught they buried their face in their palms. The blue glasses tumbled into their lap.

“Viktor!”

The excited shout rang through the terminal of Pulkovo Airport, followed by the raucous clatter of a poodle’s high-pitched barks.  
Viktor all but tackled his way through the crowd of incoming travelers, Makkachin at his side, helping carve a path towards a familiar smell. He scanned the exhausted faces for the glint of blue spectacles, the mess of shiny black hair beneath a knit cap. Yuuri was standing on tiptoe to be seen, a graceful, balletic pose even underneath the heavy coat and bags. They danced impatiently behind a pair of old men who’d set down their sprawl of luggage to try to decipher where they were headed next.

An armful of suitcases (a matching set, a present Viktor couldn’t resist over-nighting to Japan when he’d found it) toppled to the floor, and on top of them Yuuri, and then Makkachin, furry legs pattering against their chest, both squealing through a sloppy barrage of kisses.

Viktor’s two favorites. All in a pile in front of him. Atop a mound of impeccable Louis Vuitton bags.  
This was a good start.  
For all the love he had for beautiful Makka it was all he could do not to throw her aside to get to his Yuuri.

Airport kisses are some of the best.

The two practically twirled on the spot, fingers laced, pulling each other as close as they could get without switching places, a whirlwind of I love yous and slightly more tongue than was appropriate in public. Yuuri tasted like dog breath but Viktor didn’t care, nothing felt more like home than this, it was 4:00am and Yuuri was his morning coffee.

People snapped photos. Viktor made a mental note to scan Instagram later. He grabbed as many bags as he could with one arm, keeping a tight hold on Yuuri’s waist with the other. He had a car waiting.

It took a good deal of mental arithmetic fitting all of the luggage in the trunk, and even still a few bags had to be brought up into the passenger’s seat. Yuuri asked to sit with Makkachin in the back, and although the jealousy almost tore Viktor’s chest wide open, the picturesque view in the rear view mirror of the two sprawled out over all three seats snoozing happily was more than enough to make up for it. The driver was more than a little perturbed that he spent most of the 30-minute ride twisted around at different angles, at one point even turned entirely around in his seat, to take a series of pictures -with flash - of his sleeping beauties.

—————————

“Are you nervous?” Viktor asked as they trudged up the stairs. The apartment had an amazing view of the ocean - at the price of being on the top floor of the building.

Yuuri had been exceptionally quiet since they’d landed. Their furrowed brow was obvious even underneath their hat, and their gaze hovered somewhere around three steps ahead of them. It was the face Viktor knew from all too many competitions before now.

“I guess so,” Yuuri sighed. Makkachin barked. She was already waiting at the door two floors up. “It’s pretty big, isn’t it? A lot of new things are happening all at once.”

Viktor hummed in agreement, a little embarrassed that he didn’t share the same apprehension.

“But mostly I’m excited. Viktor,” they hopped up a few stairs to be on level with him. “if it means being able to keep training with you, to have you close to me? That’s all that matters.”

Viktor nearly missed his next step.

* * *

 

The apartment was impeccably clean. Viktor appreciated a tidy space, but it had been more than a few years since he’d found himself on his knees really putting his grit into scrubbing the baseboards. His collection of souvenirs from the past year - including, to Yuuri’s unending amusement, his own tatami and kotatsu - were on full display. He’d conveniently picked up a newfound interest in scented oils and candles exactly one day before, when it suddenly became very important for the bedroom to smell like jasmine and amber and for the sitting room to have the aroma of freshly-washed linen and sea salt. Everything sparkled (thanks to his mother’s old cleaning recipe of vodka and baking soda), and the closets were organized with room to spare.

The sun still wasn’t up. It all would have looked better in natural lighting. All the same, Yuuri left their belongings, coat and all, in the doorway and wandered aimlessly from room to room (How had Viktor left the lighting in the bedroom?!), taking it all in. They’d lingered for ages over the case on the far wall behind the tatami, in which all of Viktor’s medals, trophies, and commemorative whatnots were displayed. Underneath the unmatched talent, the beautiful, lyrical way their body moved to the music on the ice, their unfathomable ability to make Viktor nervous and hot and dumb with want... they were a fan for life.  He'd seen the box of posters under their bed.  Their nerdiness never ceased to be endearing.

Yuuri disappeared into the bedroom while Viktor busied himself with the espresso machine, and while he thought they’d helped themselves to the bathroom or something of the sort, by the time he’d pulled two shots and fished some pastries from the pantry, they still hadn’t returned.

“Yuuri?” He called, peering around the corner into the bedroom. “Where’d you… go?”

Of all the things he expected to see, Yuuri sitting on his bed, glasses perched low on their nose, tears spilling down their cheeks was not one of them. When they knew they’d been caught they buried their face in their palms. The blue glasses tumbled into their lap.

Viktor was at their side in a second. He wasn’t great with people crying around him, but Yuuri had certainly given him some practice. He sat down with one arm and one leg wrapped around them, pulling them in close, and painted a line of kisses along their hairline.

“What’s the matter, золотце мой?” He soothed, squeezing tight. Had he forgotten something crucial? Had he left something unmanaged, something immeasurably offensive? Was his fiancé having second thoughts? Yuuri looked up at him with velvet-brown eyes made infinite by their glistening tears.

“It’s just too good…” they sniffed before burrowing back into the cover of their palms. “Are you really sure it’s okay for me to stay here?”

Viktor’s heart shattered, and from it poured a flood of compassion, of love for Yuuri. Yuuri - so sure that there hadn’t been a place for them on the podium, so convinced that they didn’t deserve, or couldn’t reach, or wouldn’t ever… He longed for them to understand that they could let themselves be loved, for them to know without question, that he loved them without limit.

“Yuuri,” Viktor half-whispered, choking back his own tears, pulling them into his lap, “of course I want you here. I have been counting down the days until the first of many mornings I get to sit out in that kitchen with you and Makkachin, sipping our first of many cups of coffee.” He pressed his forehead gently against theirs. “As far as I’m concerned, this is your home too, Yuuri, our home.” Yuuri’s cheeks flushed.

“Really?”

“Really. And now that I’ve known this space with you in it, even just these few minutes, I don’t think I would be able to bear the emptiness of it without you.” He tried to make his smile as reassuring as possible. Yuuri’s anxious features softened a little. They wiped away the last few tears.

“I would love a cup of coffee,” they said, gazing up at Viktor with dark, endless, indulgent eyes. “Do we have anywhere to be today?”

“Not a one,” Viktor said with a soft kiss. Then, unable to hold it in, “Stay with me. Please.”

Yuuri pushed him down onto his back and returned his kiss then, deep and passionate and full of warmth. The gentle pressure of their weight on top of him was something he’d missed for weeks. He could feel the curl of their lips into a relaxed smile - the kind he only knew by touch.

“Of course I will, silly. Come on, I need coffee and a shower.” They pulled him up and grabbed their glasses. “And I’m gonna need you to show me how the shower works.” They floated toward the door, slipped through.

Disappeared into the kitchen.

What?

“It works just like any oth-oh. Oh!” He ran to the kitchen - their kitchen - and downed his espresso so fast he barely tasted it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Yuuri share the winner’s podium for the first time at Worlds. Viktor is an emotional wreck about it.

The glaring lights made Viktor’s eyes water as he idled beside the ice at the 2015 World Figure Skating Championship. Nationals had been wonderful, a close win against young Yuri, whose nerves about finally competing against him were the only factor that cinched his victory. The same had gone for the European Championship, where no one was surprised to see Viktor, Yuri, and Christophe take home their respective medals.

But this. This was the best day so far of his returning season. The roar from the stands was deafening but it still could not drown out the rush of blood in his ears, the sound of his heart pounding against his rib cage.

_“This is a historic day in men’s figure skating; not a dry eye in the arena tonight as Viktor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky, and Katsuki Yuuri take their places now…”_

His chest was tight. He looked over at the other two medalists, caught Yuuri’s eye. Their smile was there, he could tell, underneath the soft heave of their deep breaths. He reached out for their hand, squeezed lightly, blinking away a few tears, fingering the gold ring around Yuuri’s finger. Yuuri squeezed back with a proper smile this time.

“Oi, Katsudon, move already!” Yuri gave his fellow skater a shove toward the ice. Yuuri kept his hold on Viktor’s hand, hopping from foot to foot in the entrance, waiting for their cue.

“Ladies and gentlemen, with a combined score of 315.4, representing Japan, 2015 world figure skating champion Katsuki Yuuri!”

Viktor watched his fiancé glide out into the ice, swallowing back the lump in his throat, struggling to maintain the composure he needed to go out on his own. When Yuuri reached the center they met the raucous applause with awestruck grace, directing bows to every corner of the audience. The mask of self-soothing and focus melted away and a smile - _God that smile!_ \- lit up their face, a smile that poured out all the pride, and the amazement, and all the other unfathomable emotions that had built up over the course of the competition. They twirled over to the podium and climbed to the top, shaking with excitement.

“With a combined score of 312.1, from Russia, Yuri Plisetsky for silver.”

A chorus of shrill screams from the Angels pierced the air as Yuri glided out, acknowledging the crowd with a wave of his arm.

Viktor thought he might have heard Otabek among the voices.

The look of determination on Yuri’s face suggested he was already lost in planning for next season - Viktor knew the Russian Fairy was disappointed in his silvers after the Grand Prix Final, but he could see in those green eyes the will to accomplish anything - everything Yuri wanted. This would be his last silver for a long time, he predicted.

After his bows, Yuri made his way to the podium and begrudgingly accepted Yuuri’s hand as he stepped up to the second tier. Viktor could see the two muttering to one another beneath their smiles. He waited, one foot on the ice, trying to relax his face and shoulders, until finally the announcer spoke again.

“And with a combined score of 311.8, from Russia, Viktor Nikiforov!”  
He stepped out into the center of his spotlight and swung around to make a dramatic stop in the middle of the ice. His arms shook; he hoped he could hold it together. Roses and poodles rained down around him, but as he turned to make his final bow to the audience at the far end of the ice, he caught a glimpse of Yuuri’s proud face from the podium, the tears of joy, cheering with their hands cupped around their mouth. The light danced off their engagement ring. Breathless, hoping to at least choke back the tears until he made it to the podium, Viktor improvised a little step sequence over to the carpet and reached out for his gold, his champion, as he stepped up to his platform. Yuuri bent down and took his hand in both of theirs, kissing his ring as they pulled him up. He looked up to behold the sight of them, standing over him, strong and endlessly beautiful, brown eyes beaming down at him with pride and adoration.

“… _unprecedented, never in the history of the ISU have we seen a coach and student share the podium in a competition of this…”_

He could not bring himself to let go of Yuuri’s hand. It would be his undoing; already the tears were welling up in his eyes, causing the stadium around him to ripple and warp.

“They need to start the ceremony, old man,” came an exasperated drawl from just beyond Yuuri’s perfect form. Then, in Russian, “Oh my God, this is hideous. Please just hold it together until we get off the ice.”

“… _tor Nikiforov appears to be overcome with emotion, now it certainly has been a few years since we’ve seen tears from_ …”

Yuuri squeezed Viktor’s hand and pulled away.

“It’s any other ceremony, my love. We’ll get you some wine the second we leave the ice.” They kept their eyes upward, looking up at the crowd like one might look at God.

Viktor was lost and overwhelmed in the wonder of his fiancé. Yuuri winning… achieving their dreams, fulfilling promises, reaching new heights… was _beautiful_. There was a completeness there, behind their humbled expression that sent him reeling through all of the emotions, obstacles, and triumphs of the past year. Together, here, they had found on the ice what he thought he would only be able to find off of it - his love and life. There was a lengthy scolding from Yakov in his future, just like there’d been after their first kiss in China. This was entirely out of character. The image of a cool, demure Viktor was shattered by the weepy sap currently on the podium.

“Presenting the medals, ISU Representative Mrs. Teresa Berganza,” blared the announcer. A short, commanding woman with large pearl earrings came forward, the second most beautiful thing in the arena dangling, sparkling from her outstretched hands. The first most beautiful thing bowed deeply to allowed her to slip the medal over their head with a gracious smile. Just beyond them Yuri offered polite applause and Viktor knew he was to follow suit - but he only got a few claps in before he was pressing both hands over his mouth to hide his quivering lips, trying with very little success to regulate his breathing. He stayed like this while Yuri received his silver medal. The ISU rep was then in front of him, as she herself had been many times before, looking amused but uncomfortable.

“Mr. Nikiforov?” She half-whispered. He gathered himself a moment and straightened with an embarrassed smile. “Will you make it?” He bowed; the medal slipped over his head. Its satisfying weight fell against his chest as he stood. He nodded, wiping his eyes, breathing.

Mrs. Teresa Berganza winked.

Flowers were next, and had passed in an instant - before he knew it there was a bouquet in Viktor’s hands that matched the one in Yuuri’s. Things were becoming clearer, his breathing steadier. And then…

“Please rise for the winner’s national anthem.”

And then Yuuri was singing. Hugging their bouquet to their chest, eyes raised to the heavens, glowing with a radiance that outshone even the gold medal around their neck. Their voice was sweet and clear, simple but sparkling like wind chimes, and everything fell away around the podium. For a moment time was suspended, and it was just Viktor, Yuuri, and Yuuri’s divine voice. And the mortified grimace behind Yuri Plisetsky’s polite smile.

————————————————

The moment he stepped off the ice, Viktor had Yuuri by the waist, forehead pressed against theirs, unable to say enough times how proud and amazed and lucky and enamored he felt.

“Viktor,” they laughed with their lips pressed into his cheek, “you’re speaking Russian…”

He kissed them, stepping forward so that they fell back into his arms. Clutching at their back, he kissed them with everything that he felt and all his little words.

“I wanted to kiss my gold,” he murmured, pulling away.

Yuuri grinned.

“I believe you mean _my_ gold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Check out my profile for more YOI content!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri experiences nerves on the day of their wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Yuuri has been to Yu-Topia Katsuki with Viktor. The theme of this chapter is "at the altar"

Yuuri gulped as they examined their hair in the full-length mirror in Mari's room of Hasetsu Yu-Topia, mindlessly brushing out the ends even though it had been shiny and tangle-free long ago. They removed the pins that held it back from their face and changed to a side part. They'd been growing it out since their first gold a little over a year ago. It wasn't long enough yet to pull back into a ponytail, or a single braid, without everything falling out in strands around their cheeks - looking anything less than put together would be an insult to the flawless ensemble they knew Viktor would be sporting that afternoon.

"Mari-neesan, I don't look sloppy, right?” they mumbled, trying to arrange their bangs so that they cascaded attractively over their face without obscuring their eyes. Mari peered over their shoulder at their reflection for all of two seconds before returning her attention to the orange she was in the process of peeling.

“You look fine, Yuuri.”

No, no, no, that wasn't good enough. Something was off. They whipped off their glasses and dabbed some aloe on the little red spots on either side of their nose, hoping fifteen minutes was enough to even out their skin tone before Viktor saw them for the first time. Squinting, they turned back to the mirror. What could they do?

They pulled out their makeup kit, sky blue and printed with poodles, and fished around for the shimmery dusty rose eyeshadow they had used to hint modestly around their eyes. Perhaps they had been a little _too_ subtle with the accent. They filled in just a little bit more and topped it off with a clean, thin black liner. No wings, this time. Phichit would be disappointed.

They left their glasses behind on Mari's vanity.

Everything had been so exciting and romantic up to this point. Their decision to buy the ring. The papers for a work visa Viktor had waiting after the Grand Prix banquet in Barcelona. Moving in. The _mind-blowing_ sex. The process of planning and orchestrating everything wedding-related... Yuuri had felt so at home. They were finally starting to see a sense of direction in their life, a connection between work and love and home and friends that got them out of bed in the morning.

They'd spent the past year under blankets, snuggled together with Viktor, some new project coming to fruition on the laptop positioned between them: skate programs, travel bookings, the search for the perfect brand of dog food, color schemes for the decorations, birthday presents for Yurio... two and a half years ago they wouldn't have even believed they could achieve a life this good. Training with Viktor was vigorous and fast-paced and exciting; life with him was relaxed and comforting... and just as exciting.

But now, here, Yuuri was about to put on the biggest show for all of their friends and family - and they had only this one chance to pull it off. And Viktor wasn't there to help them prepare because "it's bad luck to see each other before it's time." They could feel the pressure of everything they had planned up until now bearing down on them, threatening to press all of the air from their lungs, dampening their bangs and the collar of their powder blue suit with sweat.

Mari set down her orange and hovered beside them with a towel.

“You'll be fine, I promise,” she soothed as they dabbed at their forehead. “and you don't even need to worry about impressing any of his family since...”

“ _Oi, neechan,”_ Yuuri chided with a dark laugh. The two had still never really approached the subject of the parents he never had or life in the orphanage. Yuuri still couldn't tell whether his silence on the subject was born from avoidance or acceptance.

“He has always had Yakov. And the team. And... well... us, now, I guess.”

Mari smiled wide with a gentle squeeze of her sibling's shoulders.

“Yuri,” she breathed, “you're marrying Viktor! _The_ Viktor! The same Viktor we clipped from magazines and turned into a paper doll when we were kids! I have watched him make you happier than I've ever seen you, even before you'd met.” She thrust a handful of orange wedges into their hand and began adjusting their suit in tiny ways here and there as she spoke. “Here. Eat. Look. I told you when you came home that no matter what you did, I'd support you. So no matter what happens...”

Yuuri couldn't keep a hold on her words; the emotions welling up inside them were causing their pulse to pound, heavy and commanding, in their ears. She squeezed them tight with all the power of a sister's pride and they realized that maybe the black eyeliner had been a mistake. A brief glance in the mirror confirmed their suspicion; they yelped and shoved Mari back down into her chair.

“You idiot,” they cried, dabbing under their eyes at the little black streams that had started down their cheeks. “Oh my god, what if I don't even make it through the ceremony?”

Mari's expression of helplessness, her gaping mouth trying to find the correct words to soothe her sibling, was interrupted by the banging open of her bedroom door and Yuri Plisetsky's heavily-accented impatient drawl.

“Katsudon, are you r- _oh Jesus Christ._ ” With the demeanor and the force of an overbearing stage mom, Yurio licked his thumb and marched over to the vanity, brandishing the damp digit like some sort of magical weapon. Yuuri feared for a moment he was going to claw their eyes out. His frenzied scrubbing punctuated his words as if he were carving them into their skin. “You! Shouldn't! Wear! Eyeliner! You! Emotional! Fuck!”

After a thorough baptism of slick makeup remover on scratchy cotton pads, Yurio deployed his quickest makeup skills, pulling out cosmetics Yuuri was sure hadn't even come from their own collection and working with swift precision. The way he held the brushes he wasn't using between his teeth would have made Yuuri cringe any other day, but then again, he'd already smeared their face with his spit. And mostly, they just wanted to look their best. Primer, eyeshadow, clear mascara, powder, setting spray. It all took two minutes, max. The young Russian scratched at his newly-clipped hair and leaned back to admire his handiwork.

“Hell, you almost look presentable,” he grumbled. “Ready to go get married?”

The wedding party was assembled at the entrance of the inn. As Mari and Yurio ushered them in, Yuuri just barely caught a glimpse of charcoal suit and silver hair being led away by Phichit and Chris. In the lounge, their parents and Yakov were deep in discussion – or rather, their parents were deep in discussion while a rather unamused and overwhelmed Yakov sipped his drink. When he caught sight of Yuuri, his face – if it was even possible – lit up. He sprang – if it was even possible – to his feet and caught them in the crook of his arm.

“Katsuki,” he growled. “You look... Ah. Viktor will...” He pressed his lips into a thin line, jaw set in its usual stern scowl but eyes soft and pleading. Yuuri laughed and thew their arms around the old man.

“I'm so happy you agreed to be here for Vitya,” they sighed. Yakov flashed a rare smile.

“You've stolen my best student from me. His scores are shit because of you. But I would not trade you for ten more seasons of gold medals. He chuckled. “I am not heartless. Желаю вам обоим море счастья.”

“My Yuuri! Move, oh my god, move! Yuuri!” An onslaught of flashes from a camera phone announced Phichit's return; the Thai skater slammed into Yuuri hard enough to knock them off-balance before cupping their face in his hands and kissing their forehead. “You look absolutely stunning!” He continued to fawn over them as he pulled them back into the lounge. He cornered them behind a menu board and craned his neck in the direction of the banquet room down the hall. “We're starting the procession! Once Viktor goes in your dad will come get you, okay? Breathe! You're going to do great! You are beautiful and Yuuri? Viktor. Is. Beautiful. You two are going to have beautiful, amazing, disgusting sex tonight and every night for the rest of your life, and if you need moral support at any point today you just reach back and squeeze my hand, okay? Okay! I have to get ready!”

Phichit disappeared beyond the menu board and, for the first time that day, Yuuri was alone. His frantic energy was resonating through them like the lingering tones of a bell; it was happening. Now. It hit them that Viktor – _The_ Viktor was theirs today, now, and for the rest of their life. They heard the processional through the walls and went boneless. The overture from _The Marriage of Figaro_ seemed to go on for hours. Yuuri dabbed one more time around their neck with their sleeve.

When Toshiya appeared around the corner, Yuuri's insides went cold.

_Here it goes._

Mom and Dad on either side of them were both whispering their love and support as they slid open the door to the banquet room.

And there he was.

Forget the guests, the wedding party, everyone arranged in front of them with heads and shoulders twisted around in their seats to see their entrance. Nevermind Minako's and Yuuko's bawling, the collective gasp as they walked in, the enamored stares from their fellow competitors all grouped together on one side.

All they saw was him.

Viktor – his slender frame perfectly filling out his Armani suit, his eyes sparkling with tears – was waiting for them, blushing cheeks visible even beneath the trembling hands steepled over his face. Their groom... their husband. With every step Yuuri felt the room melt away around them, until nothing else existed outside of the soon-to-be spouses. They couldn't even dare themselves to blink; no way could they miss a single moment of Viktor's face.

And then they were at level with him. Standing right next to him – right in front of him, looking up into the cloudless skies in their lover's eyes. Viktor heaved a heavy, shuddering breath and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Yuuri,” he gasped.

“Hi,” they breathed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Check out my profile for more YOI content!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri shook their head and sat curled up sideways in the passenger’s seat, staring and puzzling at their husband with a strange mixture of awe and betrayal and utter fanboy-ism swirling in their stomach. Not once in their six years together – not even before then when they had scoured magazines and message boards, soaking up every bit of information they could about him – had Yuuri considered that Viktor could, had needed to, or ever wanted to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't have anything to do with the story but I just wanted y'all to know that Yuuri has their hair in two french braids in this chapter, a hairstyle Viktor taught them from his youth that he was strictly forbidden from wearing in public. It's their favorite summer hairstyle and even features in one or two of their programs through the years, although they prefer to let it fly free like their husband did.

It was their four-year anniversary, and still Viktor was full of surprises.  It was all Yuuri could think as they stepped out of the Colorado hotel, letting the air of the warm summer morning wash over them and gulping it down in long, thirsty breaths.  The musk of pollen and pine sap mixed with the hazy morning mist was heavy and sticky and sweet.  It reeked of laziness, made them almost want to kick back with a long book and a cold drink and pass the day idly.  Almost.

Almost, because under any other circumstances that’s all Yuuri would want.  Almost, because still Viktor was full of surprises, and there, outside the hotel, he stood in front of a rental Subaru Forester packed with all their things.  Pink traces of yesterday’s sun kissed his nose and his cheeks and his shoulders, making him look somehow much younger than thirty-three, much more like the sweet, demure Viktor they had admired in their adolescence.  On his face he wore the widest grin Yuuri had ever seen.

They must have looked confused, because after a moment’s assessment Viktor bounced over and cupped their face in his hands, lifting it to meet his in a gentle kiss.  Yuuri could feel him practically buzzing with quiet excitement, the kind that tries not to oversell, reserved for gift-giving and surprise parties.

“Where…?” Yuuri started, but Viktor kissed them again.  He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead on theirs and letting his hands fall just a little to brush his thumbs back along their cheeks.

“I told you we were going to the mountains, right?”  Yuuri nodded, staring up into eyes so familiar now that they were amazed they could still get lost within them.  “Yuuri, I know you’re going to tell me I went overboard, and I don’t care, but I can’t tell you how truly sick I am of hotels, and I can tell you are too.” Yuuri hummed their agreement, staring shamelessly.  “I told you we were going to the mountains for our anniversary getaway but this isn’t really the mountains and it isn’t really a getaway so I… kind of… changed the itinerary a bit.”  Yuuri raised a knowing eyebrow.  “…A lot.  Are… you mad?”  Yuuri laughed nervously.

“My love, why would I be mad?” They asked, allowing themself to be led out of the doorway and down to the vehicle, until one of the possibilities racing through their head made them freeze.  “Unless we’re going camping.  _Viktor…_ ” They squeezed his arm.  “ _Please_ tell me we’re not going camping.  I don’t think I could ever…”

Viktor’s reassuring smile was confident enough to tell them they weren’t.  But even then, the reassurance left so many possibilities for change.  They had both agreed on a quiet, relaxed vacation – one without fancy nights out or long days of sightseeing or showtimes to remember not to miss.  The only reservations they’d made had been this hotel, for the week.  Yuuri hadn’t packed adequately for anything other than a week of solitude with their husband – nothing they’d want to be seen in, certainly.  If the plans were changing…

Viktor sensed Yuuri’s worry and moved his hand up to intercept their grip on his forearm, lacing their fingers with his own.

“Yuuri,” he soothed, “I would never throw you into something new unprepared.  The plans haven’t changed.  Just the location.  I adjusted our stay with the hotel, everything is accounted for – it’ll just take a little bit of travel to get there.  I promise it won’t disappoint.  Okay?”  He brought their interlaced hands to his lips and brushed a kiss against Yuuri’s knuckles, and the look in his eyes was one that they had seen countless times before – that sweet, imploring stare which begged them to trust him, promising that he would take care of them.  It was the look that had been in his eyes the very first time they’d spoken, that fateful day he’d turned up in Hasetsu to be Yuuri’s coach.  It had been there in Barcelona, when he'd asked them to skate in the way that made them happiest.  It had been there in his wedding vows.  It warmed them to the core and they felt the tension in the back of their neck soften.

“Okay,” they said with a reserved smile.  “It’d better be good, Nikiforov.  I was really looking forward to an afternoon by the pool.”  They moved to open the door to the backseat but Viktor blocked their way, instead opening the front passenger seat and gesturing to it expectantly.

“Don’t you want to sit up front with me?” he asked.

 

* * *

 

They’d been in the car with Viktor before.

Obviously.

In some cities it was just necessary; Yuuri had been so accustomed to taking public transportation in Hasetsu and even in Detroit, but ever since they’d moved to St. Petersburg they hadn’t had to bother.  Viktor had always had a car waiting whenever either of them had to venture any farther than their home rink 4 blocks away.

Just a few days ago the couple had finished up the last of their work before vacation in the back of Viktor’s favorite ride – the champagne-colored town car with tan leather seats – on their way to lunch with a prospective sponsor for Minami-kun.  They’d chatted idly, coffees and phones in hand, perched on their respective sides of the bench seat.  Yuuri had brushed their ankle gently against Viktor’s between them, a soothing sort of habit they’d picked up from years of balancing their public, professional lives with their marriage.  They knew if they were to stop, Viktor would pick right up with the little touches, little reassurances that he was still there, underneath the coach and manager. 

It hadn’t been remarkable – not even memorable.  After a while it had become as routine as the day-long flights and room service dinners and press conferences.  It was the same as any other time the pair had needed transportation to a press conference or photoshoot.

They’d been in the car with Viktor before, but Yuuri realized as they climbed into the passenger seat that they’d never been _alone_ in the car with Viktor once in their life.  And as Viktor fastened himself into his own seat they realized even further…

“No driver?” they blurted.  Viktor laughed.

“Yes, driver, Yuuri, I’m right here,” he teased.  The seatbelt rumpled his tank top against his chest and he took a moment to straighten out before gesturing to the console in between them.  “I got you a coffee, just like always, золотце мой, and I hid some snacks inside the armrest… but don’t feel like we can’t make stops!  It’s five hours so hopefully somewhere we can find lunch along the way.”

Yuuri shook their head and sat curled up sideways in the passenger’s seat, staring and puzzling at their husband with a strange mixture of awe and betrayal and utter fanboy-ism swirling in their stomach. Not once in their six years together – not even before then when they had scoured magazines and message boards, soaking up every bit of information they could about him – had Yuuri considered that Viktor could, had needed to, or ever wanted to drive a car.  They’d never seen him drive; there had always been someone to do it for them. To Yuuri, “in the car with Viktor” meant lounging together in the backseat of taxis and limousines, not... They didn’t know how this fact about their husband had slipped past them, or the fact that sometime in the past year he’d obtained an international driver’s permit.  They babbled this at him over an over again in between sips of their coffee as they watched him go through the mundane motions of starting up the vehicle.

It shouldn’t have been remarkable, the way his bicep flexed ever so slightly as he turned the key in the ignition, or the way he maneuvered between the wheel and the gear shift and his coffee without ever letting his eyes leave the road.  Yuuri shouldn’t have been marveling at Viktor’s casual positioning in his seat, or the calculated movements of his eyes as he navigated between road and GPS.  _Shouldn’t, but was._

“I learned in my twenties, not too, too long before Sochi,” Viktor said, scooting his hips forward and leaning back into the headrest. “Something for me before I really knew what it was I wanted.”  His eyes scanned the road in front of them, sparkling with reminiscence.  “Yakov was livid.  Everything I ever did was some sort of grand rebellious gesture to him.  I was depressed and isolated and going through some serious de-personification… I felt like maybe I didn’t exist off the ice.  Driving, just for fun, was something I did to ground myself.  To feel… real.” 

He smiled, almost sadly, and Yuuri felt a swell of emotion catch in their throat at the sight.  They knew about Viktor’s quiet, private struggles from the peak of his career.  They knew that sometime just before they danced together that he’d lost all sight of his life and love.  But now they knew why Viktor driving was so beautiful.  It was the same reason Viktor in the bath was beautiful, or Viktor eating katsudon, or Viktor underneath them, head thrust back in ecstasy.  There, in the driver’s seat, Yuuri saw Viktor practicing self-compassion, allowing himself to live.  It was the closest thing they’d seen to the Viktor who’d met them in the onsen that April morning, determined to chase the happiness he’d found at the Sochi banquet.

Yuuri knew they’d talked on the ride, but about what they couldn’t remember.  They reclined their seat and drifted off to sleep, overcome by the hot sun beating down on them through the window.  When they woke, gradually and comfortably, they indulged in watching Viktor, calm and at work, listening to a podcast and muttering occasionally as he tried to decipher the next step in his directions.  The promise in his eyes rang true, and Yuuri felt safe and excited and ready for the adventure that awaited at the end of the road.

When he noticed his spouse was awake, Viktor grinned and offered his hand.  Yuuri took it and Viktor settled into that position, one hand steadying the wheel and the other resting with Yuuri’s in his lap, rubbing little circles into their palm.

“There should be a stop at the next exit,” he said.  “If we stop there and keep it quick, we should be at the cabin before 3.  Yuuri?”

Yuuri made a little noise of acknowledgment and pressed a little kiss into the back of his hand in response.

“Happy anniversary, красавец мой.  I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw! Six years in and still learning so much about one another!
> 
> One more in the five and I promise next chapter we'll see more of our Phichit and Yuri and maybe some Chris since I teased him in last chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
> For nightly fic chapters and lots of reblogged YoI content, check out [my tumblr](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)


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